


we are not alone (in the dark with our demons)

by angelsdemonsducks



Series: tumblr prompts [3]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders Angst, Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders Needs a Hug, Insecure Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders, M/M, Multi, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Pining, don't worry roman gets that hug, patton and janus are more than happy to inform him of this, roman is loved far more than he believes himself to be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:01:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25633237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelsdemonsducks/pseuds/angelsdemonsducks
Summary: He watches Patton, and he watches Janus, and he watches them together, and he burns for them, bright and hot and never-ending, fueled by the sheer force of his want. Roman is passion and Roman is desire, and he desires them, desires their attention and their affection and their love, and it’s like an arrow to his heart to know that he cannot have them, cannot have this.Because they already have each other. And even if he were worthy of them in the first place, there is no space for him between them.Roman knows very well that his love is a hopeless one, knows that no matter how deeply he feels for Patton and Janus, they will never feel the same. So he pulls away from them, and pretends that the loneliness doesn't hurt.He doesn't expect them to notice what he's doing. And he certainly doesn't expect them to worry about him.
Relationships: Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders/Deceit | Janus Sanders/Morality | Patton Sanders
Series: tumblr prompts [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1843297
Comments: 18
Kudos: 224





	we are not alone (in the dark with our demons)

**Author's Note:**

> From this tumblr prompt: Might I suggest “I don’t want to be alone.” with Royaliceit?
> 
> Title from 'I Have Made Mistakes' by The Oh Hellos.

Roman has never really known what love is.

Oh, he pretends well enough. That’s his job, after all. He is Thomas’ hopes and dreams, his most romantic fantasies, and he performs that role well, spouting off suggestions about grand gestures and acts of true love and deeds of valor and honor and bravery. And it’s not as if he’s lying; based on every story he’s ever read, every Disney movie he’s ever watched, that is the epitome of what romance should be. And he thinks he would like that, would like to execute these grand gestures for someone, would like to sweep someone off their feet, be their savior, their hero.

_Someone_ becomes _Patton_ so gradually that he doesn’t notice for a very long time. Doesn’t notice how his heart beats faster whenever Patton is in the room, doesn’t notice how he hangs off Patton’s every word, doesn’t notice how he would do just about anything to get Patton to smile at him. Or rather, he does notice, sort of, in a vague, curious way. He’s just not sure what it means.

And then comes the wedding. And Roman thinks he understands what love is after all. Because the words of the others have always hurt him, their criticisms and mockery never as easily shaken off as he likes them to think, but this? This is something different. He watches as Patton sides with Deceit, with the side he was _told_ not to believe, was _told_ was in the wrong, was _told_ was bad for Thomas, so _you shouldn’t listen to him, Roman!_ He watches as Patton sides with Deceit, as _Thomas_ sides with Deceit, upending everything he thought he believed, and the betrayal hits him like a knife to his chest. And he knows that it wouldn’t sting nearly so much if he didn’t trust Patton, if he wasn’t willing to follow him anywhere, if he didn’t _love_ him, and the realization is far more bitter than sweet.

So, love is this: heartbreak, the stifling silences between breaths, and the words, _we love you_ , said as if he is supposed to accept them.

He doesn’t. And why should he? He works so hard, tries his best every hour of every day, and this is what it gets him? A blow to the back of his head, faded and empty promises, a snake whispering in the dark, and Thomas turning away from him. _You are!_ rings in his head, stuttered, placating, a lie.

And perhaps Thomas is right. Perhaps they are all right. And if Deceit is right, then he must be wrong. Isn’t that how it goes? Someone has to be the villain, after all. What else is he, if not a washed-up prince, a hero that has never managed to save anyone, a Creativity that is not nearly as good as he portrays himself to be?

God. No wonder they don’t love him.

So he throws himself into being better, into being more. He swallows his pride and apologizes to Deceit— to Janus, he supposes, though something about using the name still leaves an acrid taste in the back of his throat— and if the apology is a bit halfhearted, not entirely meant, Deceit doesn’t call him out on it, and he doesn’t call out Deceit’s apology in turn (and he has no idea, none at all, whether he means it sincerely or not. He can never tell, anymore, whether the words out of Deceit’s mouth are lies or truths, and sometimes, he thinks it doesn’t matter either way).

He asks Logan for input more often. He tries harder not to antagonize Virgil, or at least, not in the ways that truly bother him. He smiles at Patton when Patton approaches him, smiles and insists that he’s fine, even though he feels like his heart has been ripped out of his chest and dropped into oncoming traffic.

And Patton believes him. That is, perhaps, what hurts worst of all, that he doesn’t see the way he’s falling apart beneath the thin veneer of bravado.

But he can’t blame him for that. Roman is, if nothing else, a good actor. A good _liar_.

He spends more time working, coming up with ideas that are bigger and better than any of his previous ones. He presents them to Thomas, and acts like his entire being isn’t screaming for some form of validation, any scrap of affection, any crumb that might tell him that Thomas doesn’t think he’s too much of a failure after all. And sometimes, he gets that. Sometimes, the ideas are good. Sometimes, Thomas grins and thanks him and congratulates him on a job well done.

More often, the ideas aren’t good enough. More often, it’s back to the drawing board. He barely sleeps these days, can barely be bothered to try.

And he thinks about love a lot. Thinks in the privacy and secrecy of his own mind that maybe, love isn’t worth it, if it hurts this much. Thinks that he wishes that these feelings would go away, and then maybe, he could begin to claw his way back toward normalcy.

But he’s too aware of it, now. Too aware of the way that Patton smiles and moves, too aware of his kindness and his concern and the way he always tries to take such good care of everyone. The betrayal still sits heavy in his chest, but it’s like an old wound, now, one that still pains him but one that he can ignore most days, because in the end, he’s not sure that Patton was wrong at all in what he did, in choosing Deceit over him. He thinks that maybe _he_ was wrong, that he still is, and he’s doing his best to change that, but he has never known how to be anything different from what he is. He has only known how to cover it all up, how to wrap himself in glittering paper and a shiny bow and hope that no one looks too closely at what lies underneath.

Perhaps he’s getting too lost in his own head. Perhaps that’s why he doesn’t see it coming.

It’s the only explanation he can think of. He should have noticed it, otherwise, should have seen the way that Patton and Deceit inch together, like two stars sliding into each other’s orbits. He should have seen the cautious glances, charged with so much more emotion than words could say, should have seen the tentative touches, should have seen the way they angle themselves toward each other whenever they’re in the same room. He should have seen it, should have guessed it, but he didn’t, so when Patton announces one night, over dinner, that he and Janus have decided to begin a relationship, he is taken completely by surprise.

Logan extends congratulations. Virgil’s blessing is far more cautious, still very wary of Deceit’s increased presence in their lives, but he appears glad for Patton, at least. And Roman offers the loudest, most boisterous well-wishes he can think of, professing his joy for Patton’s newfound happiness, putting forth anything and everything he can think of to direct attention away from the fact that on the inside, he just feels—

Numb.

Numb. Cold. Empty.

He knew he couldn’t have him. He knew that Patton could never return his affections. But apparently, there is a great deal of difference between knowing and _knowing_ , and that difference is sobbed into his pillow in the early hours of the morning.

He falls into an uneasy sleep, and his dreams are of Patton, Patton smiling, Patton laughing, Patton telling him that he _did good_ , Patton kissing him and tasting of citrus and cotton candy. And then, the dreams change, and Janus is there, too, sliding around the edges, smooth and confident and beautiful, his every motion poetry, his every glance a caress, and Roman takes his face in his hands and kisses him just as soundly as he did Patton, and then, he wakes up, shaking.

This cannot be right. This cannot be right, because these are all the emotions he pushed deep, deep down inside of him, never to see the light of day again. These are the emotions that he rejected after the theater, after the courtroom, after everyone told him time and time again that Deceit was wrong, that Deceit was bad, and if he wanted to be right, wanted to be good, he needed to treat Deceit like the villain he was. And so he did, and pretended that he has never wondered what Deceit’s lips would feel like on his, what it would be like to trace his fingers down those glimmering scales.

It seems that the time for pretending is over.

Once ended, an illusion cannot be reformed. The audience knows the trick now, would see right through any further conjuration. And Roman, too, can no longer fool himself into believing that what he feels does not exist, or that it will go away if he ignores it. He watches Patton, and he watches Janus, and he watches them together, cooking in the kitchen or cuddling on the sofa or simply sitting near each other and enjoying the company, and he burns for them, bright and hot and never-ending, fueled by the sheer force of his want. Roman is passion and Roman is desire, and he desires them, desires their attention and their affection and their love, and it’s like an arrow to his heart to know that he cannot have them, cannot have this.

Because they already have each other. And even if he were worthy of them in the first place, there is no space for him between them.

So, he does the hardest thing he has ever done in his life, and he pulls away.

He tries not to be obvious about it, tries not to do anything that might arouse suspicion or concern. He works longer, harder, makes excuses to miss meals and family gatherings. Loneliness settles into him like a physical weight, one that presses against his chest and makes it hard to breathe. Sometimes, he feels as though he stands on the edge of a precipice, a yawning chasm below, and all he has to do to fall is take one step forward. Sometimes, he feels as though he’s already falling, the wind whistling in his ears, gravity dragging him ever downward.

They give him looks, sometimes. Patton more often than Janus, though that might just be because Janus is more subtle. He can never interpret these looks. They’re always contemplative, perhaps a bit confused, perhaps a bit sad, and he doesn’t know what that means. Part of him fears that they’ve figured it out, figured him out, him and his hopeless, stupid love. Part of him wants them to, wants them to see right past him to all his dirty secrets, wants them to rip the bandage off, to let him down gently, to tell him what he already knows.

Part of him wants to fall.

The loneliness becomes tangible, surrounding him like a fog. He’s surprised no one else can see it. But then, that is the point, isn’t it?

He’s chosen this.

And it all hits him one evening, as the sun has just begun to set and he’s skipped yet another dinner, claiming to be off on a quest in the Imagination. He hasn’t been on a quest for a while, hasn’t been able to muster up the energy, or the persona. Quests are for princes, for heroes, and these days, he’s not so sure that he’s either of those. He certainly doesn’t feel like one. He plans to work instead, to churn out a few more video ideas for Thomas in the hopes that one is usable.

He finds himself curling up in a ball in the corner of his room, tears stinging in his eyes.

There’s no particular reason for it. Nothing about today has been any worse than any other recent days. This feels like something that has building for a while, like a rubber band stretched until it snaps. And he feels like he’s snapped, like something essential in him has broken, and he knows that he should be able to move past this, should get back up and get back to work, but he _can’t_ , and that fact just sends him spiraling more, because if he can’t create anything and he can’t love properly, then what _good_ is he?

He shudders, choking on a sob and sucking in a desperate breath. He stuffs his fist in his mouth, trying to muffle the cries that seek to escape him, as if from a wounded animal, and perhaps that’s exactly what he is. A wounded animal, begging for comfort, for solace, and finding nothing at all.

He wants someone here. Just, someone. Anyone. Someone to hold him and tell him that everything will be alright, even if it’s a lie. Someone to dry his tears, to grasp his hands, to _touch_ him. He _wants_ it and he can’t _have_ it, and he feels so, so alone.

Even if he deserved reassurance, he wouldn’t seek it. He’s supposed to be strong, supposed to be a _prince_ , for heaven’s sake, and even if _he_ knows just how weak he truly is, the others don’t.

He can’t let anyone see him like this.

And that is when the knock sounds on his door, as if summoned by his thoughts. Four times, a light, quick beat. He freezes, alarm coursing through him.

“Hey, Roman?” It’s Patton. It’s Patton, and he sounds worried, and Roman hates himself for becoming a source of stress. “I, uh, I brought you dinner. I know you said you’d grab something later, but you haven’t been down for a meal with everyone in a while, so, uh. I’m getting a little bit worried about you. Could I come in?”

He takes a steadying breath. He needs to respond, because if he doesn’t, Patton will likely enter anyway, just to check on him. So he needs to reply, and hope for the life of him that whatever he says is good enough to persuade him to leave, to persuade him that all is well.

“Just leave it outside the door,” he calls out. His voice sounds thick and clumsy even to his own ears. It’s because of the tears, but perhaps he can claim he just woke up from a nap, if Patton asks. “I’ll grab it in a bit.” And then, he winces, because that sounds rude, sounds callous, sounds like he doesn’t care that Patton has made the effort to come up here and bring him food. It’s quite the opposite; he cares far too much. So he tacks on, “Thanks, Pat,” hoping that at least some of his gratitude will come across.

Instead, his voice breaks, and his breath hitches as he forcibly suppresses another sob.

For a long moment, Patton is silent.

“Are you… okay?” he asks. “I’m coming in, Roman.”

_No._

“Please don’t,” he says, and realizes even as he does that his voice is too frantic, too desperate, and it won’t fool Patton for even a second. “I’m fine.”

The doorknob turns, and the door slowly swings open. Not all the way, just enough for Patton to poke his head through, his brows furrowed in concern. There is a plate in his hands, and the room fills with the scent of cooked pasta. Spaghetti, he thinks. One of his favorites.

“You don’t sound fine,” Patton says, and then his gaze finally lands on Roman, and Roman would like to melt into the floor in shame. He knows what he must look like, knows he must seem an utter disaster, with his rumpled clothes and tear-stained face, curled up in the corner like the pathetic mess of a side he is.

“Oh,” Patton says, eyes widening. He seems shocked for a moment, but then, he is moving, entering the room all the way and rushing to Roman’s side, setting the plate down on his desk before kneeling next to him, hands outstretched but not touching, not quite, as if he’s unsure of his welcome. “Oh, sweetie, what’s wrong? What can I do?”

He shakes his head, staring at him, because how is he supposed to tell Patton the truth? How is he supposed to tell him that he aches for him, him and Janus both, longs to disrupt the happiness they’ve found in each other? How is he supposed to tell him that he’s pulled away to try to get over himself, to prevent himself from doing something rash, to attempt to make the problem disappear, and instead has only succeeded in making himself feel worse? How is he supposed to admit any of this?

How is he supposed to admit that he’s a failure?

“It’s just…” he starts. “It’s too much, right now. I’ll, I’ll be okay, I just need…” He cuts himself off, burying his face in his hands, because he knows exactly what he needs, and he can’t let himself say it out loud, but if he voices anything else, it would be a lie, and he’s already lying to Patton so much, and he’s so _tired._

“What do you need, honey?” Patton asks, but he just curls in on himself more.

New strategy: maybe if he doesn’t answer at all, Patton will get fed up and leave. It’s unlikely, because that’s just not the kind of person that Patton is. But it’s the only viable plan he has left.

Patton doesn’t leave.

“That’s okay, Roman. You don’t have to say anything if you don’t wanna.” Patton hesitates, and Roman is tempted to look at him, to take the measure of whatever expression is on his face. “Would it be alright if I touched you?”

And he _does_ look then, looks and finds that the only emotion on Patton’s face is concern, a desire to help, so he nods, and Patton reaches out to him, gathering him into his arms, and Roman can’t remember the last time he was touched like this. He feels so safe, so warm, and so terribly, horribly _guilty_ , because he can’t feel like he’s taking advantage of him, because Patton has no idea about the feelings that flutter in his chest, traitorous and excited by something so simple as mere contact, and his mind is so eager to twist this situation around, to make more out of it than it is.

Patton cares about him. He feels more secure about that than he used to. But it is the same kind of care that Patton offers to everyone, and he feels so selfish and awful for desiring more than that, and for not having the courage to even own up to doing so.

But he still relaxes into the embrace, lets Patton rub soothing circles into his back, even though it makes him sob harder, this moment that is so close to what he wants and yet so far.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Patton murmurs, “I promise. Everything’s gonna be okay.”

He shakes his head mutely. It’s all he can do.

Nothing is going to be okay. But he doesn’t have the words to explain that.

But maybe, if he can live in this moment for just a little while longer, he will regain the strength to pretend.

“Patton?” The voice floats in from outside his room, and he stiffens. “You’ve been gone for a while. Is everything— oh.”

Roman shifts his head, and his vision is blurry, but he can just make out the figure standing in his doorway, awkward and discomfited, his hands twitching as if he doesn’t know where to place them. It’s Janus, because of course it is Janus, come looking for his boyfriend, and here Roman is, taking up both of their time, now, and there is a part of him that selfishly delights in it, that insists that if this is all he will ever get from them, he might as well make the most of it.

“I can—” Janus shuffles his feet, oddly hesitant. “Here, I’ll just—”

He moves as to leave, and close the door behind him, and suddenly, that is the last thing Roman wants. It is too late to pretend that this never happened, too late to prevent him from seeing his humiliation in the first place. At this point, what is a little more selfishness?

“You can stay,” he murmurs, and he’s sure he doesn’t sound at all convincing, but Janus pauses anyway, a crease forming between his brows. When he enters the room, he does so cautiously, as if expecting Roman to change his mind at any moment, but he does enter, and that is what is most important. He kneels beside Patton, and Roman is certain that they exchange a glance over his head, some silent communication, before Janus tentatively reaches out and places a hand on Roman’s arm. It is clear that he is not practiced in offering comfort, but the fact that he is willing to try at all is enough to add to the tears still streaming down his face.

“Would you like to tell us what’s wrong?” Janus asks, and even when Roman doesn’t answer with anything more than hitching breaths and shallow sobs, turning his face back into Patton’s shirt because he can’t face this kindness, Janus doesn’t push him for more. Just sits there and offers silent support and a single source of contact.

It’s too much, really, having the both of them here, having Patton hugging him and Janus touching him, both of them offering care but not the kind of care that Roman wants most. And it’s so wrong of him to fool them into giving this to him, because this means so much more to him than it does to them and they have no idea. He’s essentially tricking them, tricking them in the worst kind of way, and the longer he sits there, crying against Patton’s chest, the worse he feels about it.

And eventually, his tears run dry. And he knows he has to end this.

“I’m okay now,” he mumbles, turning his head so that he’s no longer speaking into Patton’s shirt. “You guys can go.”

Janus arches a brow, and belatedly, Roman remembers that lying to the Lord of the Lies is an inadvisable move at best.

“Is that right?” Janus asks, doubt dripping from every syllable. He’s not aiming to wound, but Roman flinches anyway. “You’ve spent the past twenty minutes sobbing your heart out, and there’s absolutely no underlying reason that needs to be dealt with? Everything’s all hunky-dory?”

He wriggles out of Patton’s hold with no small amount of regret, shifting backward until there is a few feet of space between him and both of them. He tries to fix his expression into some semblance of a glare, though he’s certain it’s not very effective. He must look like a train wreck.

“All hunky-dory,” he confirms, and has to pause, because literally who says that anymore? He shouldn’t find that endearing. He _shouldn’t_. “I was just… overwhelmed. That’s all.”

It’s not technically a lie, so Janus shouldn’t be able to sense anything off. But he narrows his eyes in suspicion, reminding Roman that he’s still perfectly capable of detecting half-truths the normal way, though plain observation.

“You have been putting an awful lot of pressure on yourself lately,” Patton says, and Roman turns to him in surprise. Patton winces, wringing his hands. “I mean… I don’t wanna overstep any boundaries here, but it seems to me that we barely see you anymore, ‘cause you’re always holed up in here working. And I’m not saying that you need to stop or anything like that, especially not if you’re feeling a lot of inspiration these days, but, um. We miss you.” He pauses. “I miss you.” He says the last in an undertone, glancing at his lap, and Roman blinks.

“I didn’t…” He stops, trying to get his thoughts in order, but it’s a hopeless task. His thoughts are flying every which way, no rhyme or reason to them. “That is, I didn’t mean to—”

“If you’re going to finish that sentence with something along the lines of, I didn’t mean to avoid you, you needn’t bother,” Janus interrupts. His voice is smooth and unreadable, and something about it makes Roman want to crawl under a rock and hide there. “It’s fairly obvious to me that that’s exactly what you’ve been doing.” Patton frowns then, looking at Janus and opening his mouth to say something, but Janus holds up a hand, forestalling him. “What I don’t understand is why? Or at least, why Patton? Me, I get.”

It takes a moment for him to realize what Janus is saying, his mind taking far too long to wrangle his words into something approaching sense. “Wait, what?” he blurts out. “Why would you… why would you ‘get it’ if I was avoiding you?”

This is, perhaps, not the most urgent question he needs to ask. But he’s confused, now, confused and beginning to realize that once again, his actions may have had unintended consequences.

Janus looks at him like he’s crazy. “Roman, I am not _unaware_ that you dislike me. And that’s… perfectly fine. After everything I’ve put you through, I… well, as I said, I understand.” He pauses, inhaling deeply, seeming to steady himself. “Again, I’m not asking for me. And I would appreciate an answer.”

Roman can only stare, his horror mounting as he realizes that Janus means every word of what he’s saying, that Janus truly believes that Roman doesn’t like him, and oh god, he’s gone and fucked all of this up, hasn’t he? He didn’t think they would notice him stepping back, much less draw the wrong conclusions, but apparently they have, and he’s stuck between a rock and a hard place. He can lean into this, pretend to be angry with them, pretend not to want them around, no matter how much that would break him. Or he can tell them the truth, and be broken in an entirely different way when they reject him, kindly at best and in disgust at worst. There’s no good option, and it’s all he can do to keep his breathing even, to keep his lungs functioning.

But he looks at Janus, his face set into hard lines. And he looks at Patton, who doesn’t meet his eyes, whose dejection is shining through every inch of his slumped posture and in the way he fiddles with his fingers, anxious and discontent.

He didn’t think this would hurt them. Frankly, he thought they were too wrapped up in each other to notice much of what he was doing at all. But evidently, he has miscalculated, badly, and there is no good option, but he knows which one will hurt them less.

He’s been selfish enough.

He releases a shuddering breath, shaking his head and staring at the floor. He doesn’t have it in him to look at them, to watch their reactions to what he’s about to say. “I’m really sorry,” he says, and his voice emerges as a miserable whisper. “I didn’t, I didn’t mean to make you think that—” He cuts off. Gathers his thoughts into a coherent sentence. By the nine muses, this is _difficult_. “I don’t… I don’t dislike you. Either of you. Um, it’s the opposite. I, uh, like you a lot. Both of you. Too much.” He curls in on himself, wrapping his arms around his stomach, as if to hide, though he knows that there is no hiding from this, no going back. “I just, you two were so happy, and I didn’t want to, to get in the way, or ruin something, but I guess I failed at that too, huh? I… god, I’m so sorry.”

He stops talking. There’s nothing more he can say. It’s out in the open, now. No take-backs.

He’s not sure what he’s expecting. But it’s not for Patton to lunge forward, to grab him by the shoulders and jerk him upright, to force eye contact, sudden and startled.

“You could never,” Patton insists, and to Roman’s dismay, his voice is choked with tears. “Do you hear me? You could never, ever ruin anything.” He sniffles, then, losing some of his intensity, and leans forward, pressing his forehead against Roman’s. “I thought that I’d messed up,” he says. “I thought that it was still too much, after the wedding and everything that happened, and that you still wanted space, or time, and I felt so guilty because I didn’t _want_ to let you have that, but I thought that if it was what _you_ wanted, then I shouldn’t—” He sighs, cutting himself off and closing his eyes. A tear slips out from between his eyelids.

Roman, for his part, barely dares to breathe. Patton is _so close_.

“You,” he says, a stuttering start, because he doesn’t know what he’s saying, doesn’t know what _Patton_ is saying, “you, what do you—”

“I like you a lot, too,” Patton says, and Roman can see the way his eyes shine and swirl, his irises a smeared mixture of Thomas’ brown and his own signature blue. “I have for… gosh, a really long time now. I guess I never thought there was a good time for me to do something about it, and then with the… everything, I thought for sure that you didn’t… I’m so sorry, Roman. You’ve been hurting all this time and I didn’t… I couldn’t…” He trails off into a sniffle, and as much as Roman would like to comfort him, he is frozen, working through the words that echo in his ears and in his brain.

Because he can’t have said what he thinks he’s just said, right? Because that would mean—

Unable to help himself, he looks over to Janus, expecting to see anger or dismay or something of the like, because if Roman is hearing this correctly, if Roman is _interpreting_ this correctly, then Patton… Patton has just confessed to having feelings for him. And that in itself is difficult to process, impossible to accept, but surely Janus can’t approve of this, can’t allow this to happen, can’t let Roman get between him and his _boyfriend_ —

Janus is staring, his eyes flitting back and forth between the two of them, and his expression is open and unguarded but there is no anger there, no fear, and when he catches Roman looking, it softens, suddenly, inexorably, and Roman can’t hope to understand it because he must be seeing wrong, because it looks an awful lot like—

Well. It looks an awful lot like the way he looks at Patton.

“You’ve always captivated me,” Janus says, simply, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “I… I know that I’ve flattered you in the past, but I, ah. I might have meant more of it than I wanted to let on.” He glances away, as if embarrassed, and Roman feels as though he’s floating. “I’ll be the first to admit that I haven’t acquitted myself well, and for that, I am truly sorry.”

“We’ve talked about this, a little bit,” Patton says softly, and Roman drags his attention back to him, little though he wants to look away from Janus, from this confession that he can scarcely bring himself to believe. “You, that is. We both love you a whole lot, Roman. We didn’t think you’d be interested, so we didn’t bring it up before. But we’d be really, really happy if you’d join us, honey.”

He shudders, tearing himself away from Patton and immediately feeling the loss, the cold air against his forehead. He doesn’t know what to do, or what do say, and most of him can’t absorb the fact that this is happening, that this is real, that after so long being on his own, they’re both here, they know that he loves them, and they want him in return.

He should be ecstatic. Over the moon. Jumping for joy. But he has never once allowed himself to believe that he might have this, has never so much as entertained the possibility, so now, presented with everything he has longed for, he feels so terribly overwhelmed.

“It’s up to you,” Patton says softly. He reaches out, and when Roman doesn’t move to stop him, he takes his hand, and Roman could cry, he really could. “Whatever you’re comfortable with, whatever you want, we can do.”

He shakes his head desperately, a multitude of words springing to his lips but all of them falling short of being spoken, because he doesn’t know how to explain this, how to explain that it’s too much, being asked this, being asked what he _wants_ , because he wants anything and everything, but he has spent so long telling himself that he _can’t_ that he doesn’t know what to do now that he’s being told that he _can_.

And some of that must show on his face, because Patton scoots closer, concern driving a furrow in his brow, but then, suddenly, Janus is there, a steady presence at his side, one hand gently resting on his shoulder.

“It’s alright if you’re not ready for that,” he says, and Roman has never heard Janus speak so tenderly. Not like this, not to him. “It’s alright if you’re not ready for anything at all. But if you’d like, you could try starting with what you don’t want.”

At first, he’s not sure what Janus means, not sure how that will help. But then, his perspective flips, and he finds it easier, somehow, to focus on that, rather than the alternative. He wants so much, and he is too used to denying himself, but at this point, he knows very well what he _doesn’t_ want.

“I don’t want to be alone,” he gasps out, and it’s practically a sob, weak and shattered. “Please, don’t leave me alone.”

Patton shifts closer once again, wrapping his arms around him for a second time. And Janus is here, too, pressing up against his side.

“Never,” Patton swears. “You never have to be alone, not ever again.”

“And that’s the whole truth and nothing but,” Janus adds, a bit wry but somehow still infinitely soft.

And they stay. With him. Just because he asked. And slowly, their proclamations sink in, the idea that perhaps they really do love him return, and goodness, he’s been so foolish, hasn’t he? Pushing them away because he thought it best, because he was so sure they wouldn’t want him, when really, it was the opposite. He hovers somewhere between laughing and breaking down into tears once again, but ends up doing neither, relaxing into the warmth of Patton’s arms holding him, of Janus right by his side.

Perhaps he was wrong, before. Perhaps even now, he has never truly understood what love is. He has spent the last weeks and months defining it by heartbreak, but perhaps it was never about that at all.

So, perhaps love is this: acceptance, the rhythm of three hearts beating as one, and the words, _we’re not leaving_ , said aloud and finally, _finally_ , Roman thinks he can accept them.

**Author's Note:**

> These prompts are supposed to be, like, 2k words? Obviously, this one ran away from me, but I can't say I'm complaining tbh. Hope y'all enjoyed!
> 
> I'm @whenisitenoughtrees on tumblr, if you'd ever like to say hi!


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